


so i insist on haunting your bed

by trishapocalypse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, basically i just wanted zayn wearing his glasses while fucking harry idk this is just, camboy!harry and boss!zayn, i cannot, i don't even know what to say about this other than "i'm sorry", oh yeah harry wears panties in a scene don't judge me, this is cliche and stupid and i am so bloody sorry D:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:36:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishapocalypse/pseuds/trishapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Harry is a full-time intern at Zayn's office and a part-time camboy; Zayn finds out and sex ensues. (There is no plot so there's no real summary. Apologies.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	so i insist on haunting your bed

**Author's Note:**

> This is all Kate's fault, as per usual. And this might be one of the worst things I've ever written, wow. (Maybe I'm just being too hard on myself. Who knows.) Anyway! Hastily beta'd, all mistakes are mine, this never happened, it's cliche and bullshit, the ending is lame, I'm sorry, blah blah. Enjoy?
> 
> twitter: @trishapocalypse | tumblr: @trishanthemum

It's not like Zayn did it on purpose—he really didn't. Louis had sent him the link as a joke with the words attached dictating, _you really need to get off, mate._ Fucking Louis Tomlinson. Zayn had half a mind to chastise or fire his best mate for sending him a link to a bloody _camboy site_ on his work email, bitching for at least three paragraphs about how unprofessional and inappropriate that was, reminding Louis that Zayn was, in fact, his _boss._ But he knew Louis wouldn't care, would laugh and roll his pretty blue eyes and casually remind Zayn of the time that he was up for a promotion, stressed beyond belief, and Louis slipped into his office, locked the door, and sucked him off until he was on the verge of tears, fingers gripping the armrests of his chair while Louis, the fucking bastard, barely brushed his fingertips across Zayn's hole, smirking around his cock as Zayn came with an embarrassingly quiet moan. And, okay, that wasn't exactly professional or appropriate, not that those were two words that were even in Louis' vocabulary, but _still._

So. Zayn maintained that it wasn't his fault, if really wasn't. It wasn't like he asked to find the website or anything. And, realistically, he knew he could turn it off whenever he wanted. But…well, he didn't _want_ to. And he couldn't see the boys face, but he didn't really need to, because his chest was on full display, fingers running down his defined abs to stop just above the hem of his tiny black pants. The boy stopped, reaching in to adjust the camera of the angle, moving it up just a little bit. Zayn frowned and closed the box beneath the camera, the comments from other viewers completely distracting him. The boy’s lips were barely in frame, plump and pink and bitten, his fingers pinching at his nipples while he let out a load moan, obviously for show.

Zayn felt his prick fatten up beneath his trousers and, without thinking, he reached down to palm himself, wondering what the boy would sound like moaning for _real,_ whether it would be breathy and quiet or loud and needy. (He secretly hoped for the latter; there was something just fucking sexy about someone beneath him being _loud_ , knowing that _he_ was the one causing it that just—he liked it.) The boy laughed, saying something quietly that Zayn wasn't really paying attention to, and he froze.

That—No. _No._ He studied the screen for another moment and felt like he had been slapped in the face. He closed his laptop quickly, because—just _no._ There was no way that the boy on screen, slim hips and perky nipples, was his fucking _intern._ But—Zayn recognized the swallows on his chest but, fuck, who _didn't_ have ink lately? He could ignore that, but—the _voice._ There was no way Zayn wouldn't recognize that voice.

He stared down at his trousers, his prick hard and pressing against the zip, and he frowned. Fucking Louis Tomlinson; it was all his fault that Zayn spent his Thursday night watching a fucking camboy play with his nipples for thousands of viewers, was his fault Zayn was wondering if the best way to get his intern off would be to hold him down and tongue the tight little buds, licking and sucking until he came, rutting up against Zayn. And—no. That wasn't—Zayn _couldn't._

Fucking Harry Styles and his stupid, dirty little secret.

 

+

 

Zayn had already made the executive decision to never speak about It or ever mention It to anyone. In fact, It had never even happened. Zayn wouldn't even give It a name, so it clearly didn't matter. Clearly. Because he was an adult. He was a twenty-seven year old adult who was at the head of his marketing department, potentially up for another promotion within the year, and the absolute last thing he needed was A Situation with his nineteen-year-old intern-slash-part time-camboy. Whatever his employees did with their spare time was of no consequence to Zayn, really and truly, even if someone of their hobbies were...more _interesting_ than others.

But that wasn't _the point._

The Point _was_ that Zayn had other things to do than be distracted by his bloody intern. He had...reports and files and numbers and presentations and _things_ to focus on (other than Harry's tight button up shirts that did nothing to hide his little nipples and _really,_ Zayn was going to have to look over the dress code policy again because he was almost certain jeans _that tight_ were against the rules—or they should've been, honestly). Zayn had things to do other than think about what Harry's skin would taste like on his tongue, the sounds that would leave his pouty little lips, and how pretty he would look sprawled out on Zayn's ridiculously expensive Egyptian cotton sheets.

"Mr. Malik?"

Zayn jumped at the sound of his name, looking up to see Harry Styles leaning into his office, and the reports of their quarterly budget just didn't seem important anymore. "Yes?"

Harry swallowed, cheeks flushing.

And, really? Zayn couldn't connect the shy and flushing boy in front of him with the confident man he had seen on his laptop screen; they seemed like two completely different people. Zayn almost didn't believe it was Harry, if only for the fact that the Harry in front of him could hardly form a sentence without stuttering and the man onscreen, pinching his nipples and grabbing his prick and—Zayn was getting distracted with that train of thought. _Fuck._ He snapped his fingers and Harry shook his head, shaking out of his daze. "Yes, Mr. Styles?" he prompted.

"Mr. Horan and I were going to get some lunch. Would you like anything?" he asked softly.

 _You, naked and sprawled across my desk while I lick every inch of your body until you're begging me to fuck you._ Zayn shook his head, more annoyed with himself for constantly losing his train of thought because of the _boy_ in front of him. "No, thank you. Enjoy your lunch." Harry's tight-lipped smile as he left the office did nothing to Zayn's mind, only serving to distract him even more. Zayn have himself a solid ten minutes of wallowing before he started packing up his stuff, declaring his Friday a half-day and deciding to work from home.

"Going home early?"

Zayn glared at Louis as he sauntered into the office, plopping down in a chair and propping his feet up on his desk. He narrowed his eyes but continued to pack his satchel. "Yes."

Louis grinned, teeth digging into his lip. "How was your night?" he asked, innocently enough, but Zayn knew that Louis fucking Tomlinson was far from innocent.

Zayn pursed his lips and said nothing.

"Watch anything interesting?" he prompted, his smile widening as he watched Zayn shift from foot to foot.

"You knew it was him," he muttered, not surprised in the least.

Louis lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "He's pretty. I like looking at pretty things."

Zayn's eyebrows rose. "You watch him regularly then?"

"Every Thursday," Louis said with a nod and a grin and a lack of shame because, well, he was _Louis fucking Tomlinson_ and he had no shame.

Zayn shook his head as he closed his satchel and threw the strap over his shoulder. "I'll see you Monday."

"No drinks at the pub tomorrow?" he asked with a pout.

"No," Zayn said resolutely because he was an adult and he could be as mad at Louis as he wanted, even though Louis hadn't exactly done anything wrong. (Except he _had_ because, without him, Zayn would've remained blissfully ignorant about his ridiculously sexy intern and his extra nipples and weird tattoos so, yes, he technically _did_ do something wrong.)

"Gonna be busy wanking over Styles?"

Zayn rolled his eyes, choosing not to respond. It wasn't as if Louis would believe him or drop the topic anyway, so. There was no point. He ruffled Louis' hair and ignored his cry of outrage as he walked out of his office.

"Use lube!" Louis cried out after him.

Zayn ignored him, _obviously,_ but made the mental note to have his driver stop at the shops because, well, Zayn _was_ nearly out of lube. (Not that he would ever admit that to Louis, of course.)

(He also wouldn't admit on Monday morning that he had wanked off more that weekend than he had in probably the previous month because of Harry fucking Styles.)

(Zayn also wouldn't admit that he spent the next three weeks watching Harry's livestream. He didn't _mean_ for it to turn into that, but he couldn't stop after one, he _couldn't._ Not when the first week he actually _watched_ (for the full length of time) was Harry sprawled across his bed, laptop angled down, as he fucked himself slowly with a vibrator because someone in the chat box asked him to. Which definitely _didn't_ lead to Zayn making up some stupid name and asking Harry to finger himself using his own come as lube and to act as if it's the person he fantasizes about the most doing it to him. (He couldn't help himself.) And if Zayn found himself wanking slowly as he watched Harry's long fingers slip through his spunk before pushing into himself roughly, found himself on edge while Harry rode his fingers like he was meant for nothing else, then who could blame him? The needy little whimpers that left Harry's lips had him so close, and when he heard Harry moan out _"Za—"_ before biting down on his bottom lip as he came, Zayn's prick twitched in his hand and he released over his stomach with no warning, collapsing back against his bed, and—really? He had slammed his laptop shut again before he could convince himself that it was _his_ name about to leave Harry's lips. There was _no way._ )

 

+

 

“So did you watch again on Thursday?”

Zayn was going to kill Louis, he was almost positive. He could ignore the fact that they had been best mates for well over a decade just to kill him—maybe. Actually, probably not, but he was still going to entertain the thought, anyway. Besides, it was _Tuesday_ and it wasn’t like Louis to take his time asking these sorts of questions.

“I accept your silence as confirmation that you did,” Louis said before Zayn could reply. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Z; s’not a big deal.”

Zayn took a drink of his water. “Ya got crumbs in your stubble, wanker,” he told him.

Louis pursed his lips and wiped his face off quickly. “So did you?”

“Maybe,” Zayn said, finishing his chips and wiping off his hands. He tossed his trash into the bin and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. “How’d you find out anyway?”

Louis shrugged. “Was bored one night, went on tumblr and saw a link. The rest is history, I guess.”

“Don’t you feel…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

“Feel what?”

“Like a…” Zayn sighed. “A perv, yeah? Like…we know him? He works for us, Louis, I—“ 

“He does it because he wants to, I guess,” Louis told him. “He’s alright with it; why should we care?”

Zayn shrugged. “I just…feel like it’s wrong? To watch, like.”

Louis grinned. “Did you see that guy ask him to suck the vibrator after he got off?”

Zayn stared at Louis for all of two seconds before he burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Yeah, least we’re not that sick, yeah?”

“Well,” Louis drew out with a laugh. “Nah, m’just kiddin.”

“You’re awful,” Zayn declared as he stood up. “I’m making a cuppa. Want one?”

“Yes, love, you know how I like it,” Louis said with a wave of his hand as he pulled his mobile out of his pocket, messing about with the screen.

Zayn rolled his eyes as he left his office, making his way towards the break room. Well, it was more of kitchenette and lounge and break room all at once; Zayn liked to make sure his employees were comfortable. He was nearly halfway there when he heard the commotion, and he frowned. Workplace drama was actually quite rare on their floor; most everyone got on, so Zayn didn’t really have to worry about that kind of thing. But he could hear the raised voices down the hall and that—that he _did_ have to worry about.

“—put on a private show for me, yeah?”

“Max, _stop,_ I—“

Zayn swallowed as he approached the room, stepping in just in time to see Max crowding Harry up against the counter, hands on his hips.

“—know you like it when people watch you, yeah? I—“

Zayn cleared his throat, crossing his arms. “Mr. George, what are you doing?”

Max stepped back instantly, holding his hands up. “I wasn’t—“

“Mr. Styles, would you please wait for me in my office?” Zayn asked, eyes not leaving Max.

Harry nodded, opening his mouth to say something, but he stopped himself and left the room quickly. 

“Mr. Malik—“

“Don’t, Mr. George,” Zayn said with a shake of his head. “I know you like to bully people; you always have around here. However, you’ve no right to talk to an intern in such a way. Actually, you’ve no right talking to another human being that way.”

Max paused. “But he—he’s a _camboy_ , Mr. Malik. He’s basically asking for it—“

“What did you just say?”

“He—“

Zayn cut him off with a wave of his hand. “If I ever hear that ridiculous drivel come out of your lips again, I will fire you. God help me, I will find a way, and you will be _gone._ You will never speak to Mr. Styles, nor will you take that tone with anyone else in my office, ever again. Do you understand?” he asked quietly.

“But—“

“No buts,” Zayn told him. “Now, since I can’t fire you, I am going to demote you. You will leave now, take the day off, and when you come back tomorrow, you’ll report to Mr. Horan. Are we clear?”

Max scoffed. “I’m not being demoted to the _mail room,_ ” he spat. “Besides, I don’t work for you, I work for Mr. Tomlinson—“

“I’m sure he won’t mind,” Zayn said with a smile. “Besides, I do override Mr. Tomlinson. You’re dismissed.”

“But—“

“Go,” Zayn told him, squaring his shoulders as Max took a hesitant step closer towards him. It took all of three minutes for Max to take a step back and leave the room, grumbling under his breath as he did so. It took Zayn another two minutes to calm himself down before he made his way back to his office, surprised to see Harry standing in front of his desk with a nervous look on his face, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Where’s Louis?”

“Mr. Tomlinson left,” Harry said quietly. “Said he wanted to have a word with Max.”

“I sent Mr. George home. And I demoted him,” he added swiftly, walking towards his desk and taking a seat. 

“You…demoted him?” Harry asked.

Zayn nodded. 

“Mr. Malik, I—I didn’t mean for that to happen. He must be so upset,” he said quietly.

Zayn’s eyes narrowed. “If he is, that’s none of your concern. He isn’t to speak to you again. If he does, I want you to tell me, Mr. Styles. Understood?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Zayn paused, looking down at his paperwork for a moment before his eyes drifted back up to Harry, who still looked nervous. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said with a shaky smile. “Did he—“ he cleared his throat. “Did he…say anything to you? About the…altercation?”

Zayn pursed his lips, realizing why Harry was so nervous; he must’ve thought that he would be fired. “What you do in your spare time, Mr. Styles, is no one else’s business.”

Harry took a step closer towards the desk, resting his palms flat on the surface. “But you…you know?” he whispered.

“I—“ Zayn swallowed, shaking his head. “It’s your business, Mr. Styles. I’m not firing you, so you can stop shaking like a newborn colt,” he teased.

Harry flushed, taking a step back and looking down at his feet. “I could…” he trailed off. “Is there a way I could repay you, Mr. Malik?” he asked quietly.

Zayn felt his cheeks flush, just a little bit, and he shook his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “There’s no need, Mr. Styles. It’s my job to make sure my employees aren’t being harassed by vile pigs,” he muttered.

“Thank you, Mr. Malik,” Harry said with a grin, a quiet little giggle leaving his lips. “I—I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Styles,” he muttered, glancing back down towards his paperwork. 

Harry watched him for a moment, another _thank you_ bubbling up in his throat, but he held it in, before leaving the room quickly. He bypassed the break room, feigned ignorance when he heard Louis call out his name, and he slipped into the loo, shutting the door behind him. He should’ve been more preoccupied with the altercation with Max, really, but the only thing going through his mind was that Zayn _knew._ Or, more appropriately, Zayn knew and didn’t even mind. And it wasn’t that the thought of Zayn knowing sent a little thrill through Harry (though it did), it was more along the lines of, what if he had watched one of his live streams?

 

+

 

Harry wasn't feeling it, not really. For the first time in almost three years of doing his live stream, his heart just wasn't in it. Which was a particularly odd way of looking at it, but it was true. It was a side of Harry that he never got to express, or was never really comfortable expressing near anyone. It was a great way to relieve sexual tension and, well, some of his more loyal viewers often sent him gifts (which was definitely _not_ legal but, well, Harry had expensive taste and an intern's income and he really, really liked the way he looked in Burberry or YSL, so—two birds, one stone, really).

But, still—his heart wasn't in it. He couldn't stop thinking about the altercation days before, what Zayn had heard, and how he responded to Max after (and Harry should've felt bad eavesdropping but...he didn't). He couldn't stop reliving how he offered to _repay_ Zayn and, fuck, he wanted to _pretend_ that never happened but he couldn't. (It wasn't that he minded, no, and he probably would've done whatever Zayn asked because he was really, really attractive and Harry wasn't blind, but—wow, he imagined he made himself look like even more of a desperate slag. Cheers.)

Harry knew it was probably one of his worst streams, but he still had hundreds of viewers so that was saying something. He angled the camera lower, rubbing mindlessly at one of his nipples, his prick hard mainly from routine and not arousal. None of the comments or suggestions were sticking out, which was definitely new. Three requests for vibrators, one for a cock ring, one for naked yoga (that actually sounded relaxing...), two for fingering himself and—

_some pretty lace knickers would be a nice way to repay me._

Harry froze, swallowing quickly, and he leaned closer to the computer, glad his face wasn't on screen. His breath caught in his throat as he reread the line over and over again. He didn't recognize the generic screen name, but he knew who it was. He quickly turned off his camera, shutting down the screen and silently vowing to make it up to his viewers somehow—he would figure something out. But—

Harry shook his head, taking a quick and cold shower before climbing into bed and pulling the covers up to his chin. He didn't—It wasn't—Well, he had worn them _before._ They had been a gift and, well, Harry was man enough to admit that he didn't really mind them.

But that didn't mean he was going to willingly wear them for Zayn, his _boss._

(Oh, who was he kidding? That's precisely what that meant.)

 

+

 

Zayn’s head was spinning through his paperwork the next day. He was half-tempted to leave after lunch, give himself a half-day and go home and sleep or…something. But he didn’t. Instead he worked through his lunch break, determined to finish his report and work on his presentation. Sometime after one, there was a soft knock on the door, and Zayn just grunted.

“Mr. Malik?”

Zayn glanced up when he heard Harry’s voice, and he felt himself smile, just a little bit. “Yes?”

Harry smiled nervously, stepping into the room and walking towards Zayn’s desk. He set the manila folder down, sliding it across the desk. “Those are the reports you asked for.”

“Thank you, Mr. Styles,” Zayn said, pulling the folder across the desk and opening it, reaching for the appropriate files.

Harry nodded, shuffling from foot to foot, biting at his lip.

“Is that all, Mr. Styles?” Zayn prompted, setting the paperwork down and folding his arms across the desk. As…endearing as he found Harry’s current behavior, it was also quite odd; not exactly out of character, but odd nonetheless. 

“I, um,” Harry hesitated, ringing his hands in front of him. “Umm…”

“Today, Mr. Styles,” Zayn said quietly.

“I’m wearing them,” he blurted out, a flush staining his cheeks as he realized what he said. His eyes widened and he took a step back towards the door, nearly tripping over one of the plush chairs in front of Zayn’s desk. “I—I mean—“ he stuttered, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Harry—“ Zayn breathed out.

Harry shook his head and stumbled backwards, reaching out to grab the chair when he almost fell over. He made it to the door before he realized that Zayn had actually called him by his _name,_ and he looked back over his shoulder. He felt his cheeks flush even more and he turned back towards the door. “I just—You asked me to,” he mumbled, pausing before realizing he wasn’t entirely positive that it had been Zayn. “Didn’t you?”

Zayn cleared his throat. “I did.”

Harry sucked his lower lip into his mouth hiding his smile, He reached up to rub at the back of his neck, and he could feel Zayn’s eyes on him. He turned the doorknob and left the room before he could say anything else embarrassing. 

Zayn jumped as the door slammed shut, and he sucked in a deep breath. He shook his head a moment later, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. As he glanced back down towards his papers, he could barely make out any of the words and numbers littered across the off-white paper; there was no way he was going to be able to focus, not after that little tidbit of information that Harry had to share. There was no way he was going to be able to focus on his reports or his presentation when he knew what Harry was wearing underneath his tight white button-up and even tighter black trousers. 

And by four o'clock, Zayn was already packed up and ready to go. He normally stayed later than everyone else, tried to finish as much as he could, but he had too much on his mind. He pulled on his pea coat and threw the strap of his satchel over his shoulder before making his way out of the office. He saw Louis waiting by the lift with Harry, joking and laughing about _something,_ and he felt his stomach turn. He wasn't even _mad,_ not really, he just wanted to leave. He wanted to take Harry out of the stupid office building and back to his flat and forget about the world for a while. Harry glanced up and met Zayn's eyes, flushing hard enough that Zayn noticed it from a few yards away, and he instantly looked back down; Zayn smiled as he approached the two of them.

Louis turned sharply, frowning at him. "What did you do?" he snapped, nodding his head toward Harry. He didn't bother keeping his voice down because that just wasn't something Louis _did._

"Nothing," Zayn said simply, because it was technically true. He hadn't done anything to Harry, not yet.

Harry fiddled with the buttons on his coat as the lift opened, stepping in.

Zayn followed before Louis could, standing next to Harry, their hands brushing together. "You coming, Lou?"

Louis nodded and stepped into the lift, eyes narrowing and focusing in on Zayn, but he remained silent for the ride down. The minute the doors dinged open, the three of them filed out, and Louis grabbed the sleeve of Zayn's coat.

Zayn paused, eyebrows rising. "Yes?"

"Takin' him home with you?" he asked quietly.

Zayn grinned and nodded, looking up to see Harry already walking towards the bus. "Mr. Styles?"

Harry stopped and turned around. "Yes, Mr. Malik?"

"I'll be driving you home today, if that's quite alright."

Harry nodded, trying to hide his smile and failing. "Okay."

Louis laughed loudly. "That wasn't subtle _at all,_ mate. Brilliant," he said, clapping Zayn on the shoulder. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That's not much," Zayn grumbled but sent his best mate a grin anyway, saying goodbye and leading Harry over to where his driver was waiting for him.

"You have a driver?" Harry asked quietly.

Zayn nodded, opening the back door of the sleek black Cadillac and gesturing for Harry to climb in. He followed immediately after, tossing his bag onto the seat and crowding up closer to Harry.

"Thought that was just a rumor," he admitted.

"No, I've had him since I turned twenty-one and got my first promotion. It was easier than taking a cab home every night since I don't drive."

"Oh."

Zayn smiled at his driver, telling him they were good to go, before he started rolling up the partition between the seats.

"Mr. Malik—"

"You can call me Zayn, you know," he told him, reaching over and starting to unbutton Harry's trousers.

Harry gasped as Zayn's knuckles trailed over his half-hard prick; he slouched down against the leather of the seat, instantly melting beneath Zayn's hands.

Zayn smiled softly, barely tracing the outline of Harry's prick. And, fuck, Harry _was_ wearing them; he was wearing white lace knickers that had little bows on the side, framing his prick. Zayn licked his lips, watching as Harry fattened up a little bit, just from being watched. He reached out and touched one of the bows, tugging on the hem of the fabric.

Harry whimpered, hips arching off the seat. "Zayn—" he breathed out.

Zayn stroked the smooth skin of Harry's hip, watching as his prick tented the delicate fabric, the head of his cock peeking out from under the hem, swollen and leaking just a little bit. "Been hard for me all day?"

Harry nodded, whining as Zayn say back against the seat and just watched him. He groaned and reached down, pressing his palm against the base of his cock. Zayn sucked in a deep breath and Harry knew, knew what he was waiting for. Harry pushed up the hem of his shirt, getting it out of the way, and he ran his palm down his stomach. He spread his legs as best as he could, reaching up to rub at one of his nipples through the fabric of his shirt, his other hand dipping beneath the lace knickers.

"No, no," Zayn said, reaching for Harry's wrist and pulling his hand away. "Not yet. I want you to touch yourself for me later, yeah? Can you do that?"

Harry nodded, biting his lip, his body aching for some friction.

Zayn licked at his lips, watching Harry's prick twitch beneath the fabric. And, god, he wanted to get his mouth on him, he really did—wanted to feel the weight of Harry on his tongue, wanted to taste him, wanted to feel his whole body shake.

"Zayn," Harry whimpered with a pout, spreading his legs out further against the seat, hips arching as he tried to get some sort of friction.

"Hmm?"

Harry hesitated for all of two seconds before he reached out, wrapping his arms around Zayn's neck, before pulling him in for a kiss. It was messy and sloppy, a tangle of tongues more than anything else, and Zayn let Harry have control, set the pace, just to humor him. Harry's hips arched towards Zayn, the head of his prick nudging against Zayn's belt buckle, causing the younger boy to moan.

Zayn pulled away slowly, nipping at Harry's bottom lip. "Later, yeah?"

"But—"

"Wanna taste you later," Zayn said quietly, running his thumb across Harry's lip.

Harry whimpered again, eyes blown with lust, and he tried to pull Zayn in for another kiss. "But—"

Zayn reached down towards Harry's prick, running his palm across the head and gathering up the precome. Harry panted, heart racing, as he watched Zayn bring his palm towards his lips, licking up the precome, his eyes fluttering shut behind his glasses. Zayn moaned softly, barely audible over the sound of Harry's heart racing in his ears, and he sent Harry a small smile. "When we get to mine," he started, licking at his palm again, "m'gonna spread you out on my bed and lick every inch of you."

Harry swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, I—I want that—"

"Gonna suck you, bruise your pretty little thighs, yeah?"

Harry nodded, prick throbbing and aching; he was so close, so on edge—had been all day, really, but with Zayn so close and his prick hanging out of his knickers like a slag and, well, he was _close._

Zayn bit into his lower lip as he watched Harry, wondering if he would come without being touched. He hoped so, he really did; he wanted to be able to take his time with Harry back at his flat, his sensitive body responding to every touch as Zayn worked him up again. "Think I'm gonna eat you out," Zayn whispered and Harry keened, hands reaching for Zayn's arms and digging into his biceps. Zayn leaned down and pressed his lips against Harry's neck, kissing him softly. "Gonna get my mouth on you, yeah? Would you like that? Fucking you with my tongue, getting you all wet for me, tonguing your pretty little hole until you're about to come, tears in your eyes?"

Harry gasped and nodded again, fingers tightening against Zayn's arms. "Yeah, yeah, Zayn— _fuck_ —"

"Gonna get your hips off the bed, legs around my shoulders, as I hold you open and lick you out. Have you begging for it, yeah? Begging for me to let you come as I eat you out. Would you beg for me, Harry?"

"Yes," he panted, eyes slipping shut. "Please, Zayn, I—"

Zayn smiled, nipping at Harry's neck. "Come for me, babe," he whispered. "Come all over your pretty little knickers that you wore for me."

Harry gasped as Zayn's knuckles barely touched his prick through the fabric and he came with a loud cry, cheeks flushed. He barely registered the car stopping, and he twitched as he felt Zayn tuck him back into the knickers, zipping up his trousers. "What—"

"We're at mine," Zayn told him, squeezing him tightly through his trousers. Harry hissed, body still too sensitive, his spunk still wet on his belly. Zayn ran his fingers through Harry's spunk, spreading it around, before he lifted his fingers to his lips. He smiled at Harry before tugging his shirt back down and reaching for his bag. "Let's go."

Harry let Zayn grab his hand, nearly pulling him out of the car and towards the flat. He didn’t even have time to stop and appreciate the flat before he was dragged inside. 

Zayn pulled him up the stairs and down the hall, flinging open a door and tossing his satchel aside. He released Harry’s wrist as he shrugged off his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt with his next breath. He smiled as he watched Harry, who spun in a slow circle in the room, staring at the walls where Zayn had hung his own artwork. “Getting distracted, babe?”

Harry shook his head, jumping slightly when he felt Zayn’s arms wrap around his waist. “I like your room.”

“You can ogle the room later, babe,” Zayn whispered, teeth catching the lobe of Harry’s ear, causing the younger boy to melt back against Zayn’s chest. Zayn slid his hands towards Harry’s belt, unbuckling his trousers and brushing his knuckles across his still sensitive prick.

Harry hissed, eyes slipping shut as he swayed forward just a little bit. “Zayn—“

Zayn grinned, tugging Harry back. “Get undressed, babe. Leave on your knickers, then get on the bed, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a nod, stepping out of Zayn’s arms and quickly unbuttoning his shirt. He shoved his jacket and shirt off in one go, kicking off his boots, and shoving his trousers down his legs. He nearly tripped as he kicked his trousers aside, reaching for the edge of the bed to steady himself, and he chanced a glance back towards Zayn, who was just smiling at him. Harry swallowed and sat on the bed, scooting back further on the mattress, palms sweating a little as Zayn took a step closer to him. 

Zayn climbed onto the bed, his body framing Harry’s as he leaned down to press their lips together. Harry arched into him without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s neck; a quiet gasp escaped him when he felt Zayn’s tongue trace across his lips briefly before he pulled away. His lips trailed down the front of Harry’s neck, his hand tangling in his curls to tilt his head back, exposing the long column of his neck and Zayn bit down.

Harry slid his hands down Zayn’s back, fingertips tracing the soft skin before stopping at his belt and tugging his hips forward. “C’mon, get ya’ kit off, Zayn,” he insisted. 

Zayn nipped at the skin of Harry’s neck before pulling away and unbuttoning his trousers. He stood up long enough to kick his trousers and pants aside before reaching into his nightstand and pulling out a bottle of lube, tossing it onto the bed. Harry sucked is bottom lip into his mouth and reached out for Zayn, pulling him back onto the mattress. Harry sat up and pressed his lips to Zayn’s, trying to rub their hips together; Zayn grabbed Harry’s hips and held him down against the mattress, slowly pulling away and studiously ignoring the whine that slipped past Harry’s lips. 

“Zayn,” he whined, falling back against the bed.

With a grin, Zayn’s fingers dipped under Harry’s white knickers, teasing along the side of his prick. 

Harry gasped as his prick started fattening up again, body still sensitive from his orgasm in the car, but he wanted _more,_ didn’t care if it was too soon. Zayn’s fingers slipped out of his knickers, his palm rubbing him through the fabric, and Harry’s head fell back against the pillow, hips arching as he moaned. 

Zayn leaned down and mouthed the fabric covering Harry’s prick, tracing the shape of him until he felt Harry’s fingers threading through his hair. Resting his weight on his forearms, he slowly tugged the fabric over Harry’s slim hips; he nuzzled the sensitive skin where Harry’s thigh met his pelvis, feeling him twitch, and he licked a long stripe up the side of his prick. 

Harry’s thighs fell apart, still confined by fabric, and he whined. “Zayn—Need—“

“Yeah, alright,” Zayn said, sitting up long enough to pull the knickers off Harry’s legs and toss them aside. Harry sighed happily as Zayn crawled back beneath his legs, wrapping his long fingers around Harry’s prick and gripping him tightly. He didn’t hesitate before wrapping his lips around the head of Harry’s prick, sucking slowly; Harry’s fingers tightened in the short strands of Zayn’s hair, trying to pull him closer. Zayn pulled away slowly, licking at his lips. 

“Tease,” Harry gasped out, still pouting. 

Zayn laughed softly, patting at Harry’s thigh. “Meant it when I said I wanted you taste you. Roll over, babe,” he instructed.

“You’re still a tease,” he mumbled as he rolled over, heart jumping when he felt Zayn grab the back of his thighs and push his legs further apart. “Zayn—“ He cut himself off with a gasp when he felt Zayn’s tongue sliding across his hole, thumbs pressing against his cheeks and holding him open. Harry buried his face in the pillow, barely biting back a moan as Zayn’s tongue dipped into him, feeling a bit of spit trickle past his thighs. The slide of Zayn’s thick tongue across his hole, feeling him nip at his rim, had Harry’s mind reeling. His fingertips were digging into the sheets, knuckles nearly white, and he pushed his hips backward, trying to get _more._

Zayn mouthed at Harry’s rim, feeling the younger boy’s thighs quiver beneath him; he slid his tongue against his hole slowly, teasing, before he pulled away. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand before reaching for Harry’s wrists. “Hands, babe,” he said. Harry shifted his weight onto his chest, letting Zayn grab his wrists and guide them towards his arse. “That’s it, babe. Hold yourself open for me, yeah?”

Harry flushed at Zayn’s words, burying his pathetic little moan against the pillow again, as he dug his fingers into the flesh of his bum and held himself open. He could practically feel Zayn staring at him, could feel the way his thighs were shaking from anticipation. He felt two of Zayn’s fingers slide across the length of his prick, past his balls, and nudge against his hole; he gasped as Zayn’s thumb pressed against his rim. Harry’s back arched as he felt Zayn’s tongue on him again, burying his face in the pillow as Zayn’s tongue moved against him, inside of him. Zayn’s fingertips pressed against the sensitive skin between Harry’s balls and his hole, enough pressure to have Harry making little _ah, ah, ah_ sounds as Zayn licked into him. 

“Zayn, I—I’m gonna—“ Harry panted against the pillow, pushing his hips back against Zayn’s face.

Zayn pulled away, licking his lips and grabbing Harry’s hips, flipping him over. “Not yet,” he told him, shaking his head. “Don’t come ‘til I say you can, okay, babe?”

Harry whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt the blunt tip of Zayn’s fingers prodding at his hole. Harry’s thighs fell open against the bed, Zayn’s left hand rubbing soothing, soft circles as he pressed in. Zayn pressed his lips to Harry’s abdomen, just above the dried spunk as he fingered him; Harry’s cheeks were flushed, lips bitten red, matching the swollen head of his prick. 

Zayn’s lips traveled down as he added a third finger, preparing Harry as slowly as he could, wanting to draw it out for as long as he possible, but he also didn’t want to wait considering he had been wanting to fuck Harry for _months,_ so. Zayn glanced up at Harry as he tongued the head of his prick, wrapping his fingers around the base and squeezed a little, just enough pressure to have Harry’s back bowing off of the bed.

“Za—I’m _ready,_ fuck, c’mon, just—“

Zayn cut him off as he sucked the leaking head of his prick into his mouth, slowly withdrawing his fingers as Harry clenched his fists against the bed, trying not to come. He pulled away with a smirk, pressing his lips to Harry’s quickly. “Yeah?”

Harry nodded and reached up, pushing Zayn’s glasses up the bridge of his nose where they had been slipping down. “Yeah.”

Zayn reached for the bottle of slick but Harry found it first, coating his long fingers in the substance before wrapping his hand around Zayn’s prick, thumb swiping over the sensitive head. Zayn moaned low in his throat, grabbing Harry’s wrists to stop him before he made a right fool of himself. 

Harry let out a quiet giggle and he kissed Zayn quickly before wrapping his legs around his waist, pulling him forward. The head of Zayn’s prick brushed against his hole and Harry groaned, tipping his head backwards. Zayn pushed Harry back down onto the bed, reaching for his thighs and holding him steady as he pushed into him slowly. Harry’s legs fell from his waist as Zayn fucked into him until he was fully seated, the head of his cock nudging against Harry’s prostate. 

Zayn sucked in a deep breath as Harry tightened around him, rocking his hips forward just a little bit. Harry’s fingers twisted in the sheets as Zayn pulled out, thrusting back in quicker, and he whimpered.

“Zayn—“ 

Zayn reached for Harry’s hips, gripping him tightly, hard enough to bruise his pale skin, and raising him off the mattress, sliding back, deeper, hitting that little bundle of nerves easily.

Harry keened, back arching as he reached up and threaded his fingers within his curls. “Yeah, Zayn— _Fuck,_ ” he gasped.

Zayn pushed Harry’s thighs a little further apart, fucking him faster, hitting his prostate with each thrust; his grip tightened, leaving little red marks across Harry’s thighs. Harry arched into the tough, though, pushing his hips back easily and meeting Zayn with each thrust, his curls matted against his forehead. Zayn wrapped his fingers around Harry’s swollen prick, brushing his thumb across the slit. “Fuck—Close, babe?” he panted, snapping his hips forward. 

“Yeah—“ Harry whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut, letting out quiet _ah, ah, ah_ sounds with each snap of Zayn’s hips. 

He cursed under his breath, feeling his orgasm building up in the pit of his stomach, and he tightened is grip around Harry’s prick, jerking him off quickly. “Come now, babe,” Zayn grunted and Harry gasped quietly, his thigh twitching as Zayn thumbed the sensitive head of his prick, and he came with a sob of Zayn’s name, releasing over his fist and across his stomach again. Zayn fucked him quicker, feeling Harry tighten around him, and he raised his palm to his lips, licking up a bit of Harry’s spunk. 

Harry forced his eyes open, grabbing Zayn’s wrist and bringing it to his lips so he could taste himself, moaning around Zayn’s fingers and not breaking eye contact. Zayn’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and he dug his fingernails into the side of Harry’s thigh as he came with a quiet grunt, fucking Harry through his orgasm. Coming down, Zayn slowly slipped out of Harry and collapsed on the mattress next to him, an arm thrown over Harry’s waist. Harry sucked in a deep breath, staring at the ceiling, before he trailed his hand down Zayn’s arm to lace their fingers together.

Zayn looked at him from the corner of his eye with a small grin. “Are you holding my hand?”

Harry flushed, biting at his bottom lip, and he shrugged. “Maybe.”

He laughed softly and shook his head as best as he could. “We should clean up,” he grumbled after a moment.

“Probably,” Harry agreed quietly, trailing off. Zayn made no sign that he was going to move, so Harry didn’t either. He reached for the edge of the sheet and wiped at his stomach before turning to face Zayn. “I don’t want to stop being a camboy,” he whispered.

Zayn’s brow furrowed. “Hmm?”

“M’not—“ Harry swallowed. “M’not saying this is gonna be a _thing,_ but—if it _is,_ I just…don’t want to stop,” he said awkwardly.

Zayn paused because he _did_ want it to be a thing, even though it was a wildly bad decision while Harry was still an intern for his business but—he didn’t _care._ “M’not gonna ask you to stop, wouldn’t make you,” he told him.

Harry smiled softly. “You wouldn’t?”

“If it makes you happy,” Zayn said with a shrug, “keep doing it.”

“But Max—“

“Is a wanker. And if I can get away with firing him, I’ll do it,” Zayn said easily.

Harry tugged at Zayn’s arm, pulling him over until Zayn was draped over his chest. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“Opposite, really,” he admitted.

He laughed. “Wanna do a show with me?”

Zayn flushed lightly and laughed loudly. “Absolutely not.”

Harry pouted. “Why not? M’sure people would love to watch us fuck.”

“Love to watch you, more like,” Zayn corrected him.

“Like you?” Harry asked with a cheeky grin.

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Like me.”


End file.
